ASoIaF: Red Lion's Roar
by Ireheart
Summary: Years before Robert's Rebellion, Tywin Lannister put down the rebellious houses Reyne and Tarbeck, wiping them from the face of the earth. No one survived. Or did they? Decades later, a drunken old knight and his liege lady set sail from their exile in Braavos to join Robb Stark's rebellion...in exchange for a promise to be returned to their rightful home.
1. Chapter 1

A heavy gloved fist brought itself down onto the rough wooden surface of the bar. "Another one," called out the owner of the fist, his pure white beard dripping with the remnants of his last pint of ale. The Braavosi innkeeper stared at him, incredulous. He had never seen a man put so much drink into his body and not keel over. He approached the drunkard, mug in hand, but when the patron reached out to take the offering, he kept a tight hold on it. "You get too drunk, my friend," he said, "you make any trouble, and you go out on your, what do you Westerosi call it again? Ah, yes, your ass." His tone was light and friendly, and a smile was on his face, but his eyes were deadly serious. The bearded man held his stare and nodded back curtly. The innkeeper relinquished his hold on the drink.

In less than ten seconds, the mug was drained and placed on the counter. The patron stifled a burp, fished a few coins from his pocket, and placed them beside the empty cup. "You may keep the change," he said, voice slurring a bit. He stood and swaggered out of the small, crowded inn, bumping into a few other patrons who didn't seem to notice him, so deep were they in their cups. The innkeeper watched him leave, then shook his head and got back to work. Neither he nor any of the other patrons noticed how, just before the door closed fully, his drunken swagger vanished, replaced by a purposeful stride.

Rolf sighed as the cool night air kissed his skin. The damned inn was so crowded he had been sure he would suffocate. Now, out in the open once more, he patted the dagger at his side, and checked to make sure his coin purse and hip flask still hung beside it. He had lost it his first night in Braavos, only to be fortunate enough to run into the purse's new owner in a brothel called the Happy Port. After exiting the establishment, the thief soon found himself short both a purse and a hand. The incident had served to make Rolf more wary of this city, though, so he only took the man's left hand.

The aging knight made his way towards a small abandoned home on the edge of the Drowned town, occasionally taking sips from his flask. As he neared his destination, he slowed his pace and tried to remain quiet. He didn't want to wake his lady. But it turned out he needn't have bothered.

She was standing on the bridge that connected the little island their abode squatted on to the rest of the city. Her back was to him a she leaned against the stone balustrade and stared out at the sunken buildings. The moonlight caught in her tangled blonde hair, transforming it into a pale silver. She wore a simple grey tunic and distractingly tight trousers.

Rolf stood there for a moment, marveling at the sight of her. _What in seven hells are you doing, you old fool?_ He admonished himself. _A third your age, and your sworn lady besides. Get moving now before you let these thoughts go any further._ And so, pushed forward by his self-reprisal, he approached, making sure his boots were audible. She whirled, body stiff with alarm, but relaxed when she saw him. From the expression on her face, she knew he must look a mess. His short hair and normally well-kept beard would both be dripping with sweat and ale, his tunic stained with the stuff. He didn't even want to think about how he smelled.

"Ugh. Why must you do this to yourself, Rolf?" she said, wrinkling her nose. "Anyone might mistake you for a beggar. Which you will soon be, if you spent as much as I think you did tonight." He bowed his head to hide the amused smile spreading on his face.

"Milady," he said, controlling his features before straightening. "I am beyond redemption, I fear," he said with absurd seriousness. "You ought to get yourself away from a ruffian like myself. What would the noble lords and ladies think?"

She snorted. "As if I care." She strode over to him, stopping only a little over a foot away. She was nearly a foot shorter than his six and a half feet, so she had to reach up to brush the hair away from his forehead. As she did so, he grabbed her wrist gently but firmly.

"You have to care," he said, and it was evident from his tone that he was actually serious now. "You will have to deal with those people when you reclaim your rightful home."

"I know," she said, trying to take her wrist back. He would not let go. "Rolf, I know," she sighed. "But I don't have to care just now, do I? Not until we set sail tomorrow. Now please, let go." After a moment's hesitation, he did as she asked, and she finished cleaning up his hair. "Good. You look like a human being again," she said grinning. He returned her smile.

"My thanks, lady," he said, bowing comically low. "Without you, I don't know where I would be."

She studied him, suddenly serious again. "I know where I would be without you," she said softly. "Drowned with the rest of my family. I…I never thanked you, Rolf. For what you did all those years ago. Saving me, taking me to Essos, all your training…I would not be in the position I am now, ready to reclaim my seat, were it not for you."

Rolf shrugged, scratching his neck in an attempt to look casual. "I'd do it all again, my lady. And not just because I'd have drowned as well." They both laughed, although it was more a release of nerves than from genuine amusement. They were both nervous for what the morrow would bring.

"Now, come along inside," she said, turning on her heel and striding towards their little shanty. He watched her move, marveling as he often did at her predatory grace. Other ladies might be bred for the cutthroat politics of King's Landing, but his liege was a woman of war. As he had trained her to be. That was how she would take back what was rightfully hers. Years of plotting and preparation would soon come to fruition. They would ally with the rebel king Roob Stark, smash Tywin Lannister, and return home. "Are you coming?" she called out, turning back to face him.

Rolf started, like a man waking from a dream. "Right away, milady," he said, moving toward her. She turned back around, and Rolf followed his lady, Tiyana Reyne, daughter of Ellyn Reyne and Tion Lannister, inside.


	2. A drunk, an exile, and a cripple

The sun was high in the heavens, the air was cool and crisp, and a brisk wind propelled the fleet of Braavosi traders northwest along the Narrow Sea. Tiyana's company was in good spirits, excepting her faithful companion Rolf, who was currently leaning against the bulwarks as he expelled his spirits into the ocean. The old man swore under his breath as more of last night's ale made its reappearance. "Fucking ale. Tastes even worse going out than it does in." A feminine laugh caused him to whirl, and he came face to face with a pretty, red haired young woman, garbed in a sleeveless tunic and man's trousers, a brown sash at her waist preventing the too-large breeches from slipping off of her hips. The sash also held in place a curved sword, sheathed in a crude leather scabbard.

"I see you're having fun, old man," she said, wrinkling her nose. "You smell terrible. And you look worse." It was true, unfortunately. The front of Rolf's tunic was stained with ale and vomit, and his beard dripped with the vile stuff. "Ah, go fuck yourself," the aging knight said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Or better yet, go find that captain of yours to do it for you." At that, the girl's face darkened, and she reached for the hilt of her sword. Rolf noticed the motion and said, "I'm warning you, girl. You don't want to mess with me. I don't kill women, but I wouldn't mind teaching you a lesson." The sellsword sneered. "As if you could, you old fuck." She assumed a more relaxed stance. "You're boring me. Have fun spewing your rotten guts out." She turned and stalked off, hips swaying. Rolf watched her for a moment, then turned to vomit again.

Tiyana frowned from where she stood, leaning in the shadow of the bridge. She had witnessed the entire exchange, and she didn't like it one bit. "Friendly guardian you got there," the man to her left commented casually. The last Reyne turned a baleful eye on him. "Friendly enough to those who deserve it," she said coolly. The man shrugged. "I'll admit, Marah can be a little difficult at times. Still, you have to admit, having a man piss drunk all hours of the day ain't exactly wise. Especially on a ship, where one's liable to take a tumble in the briny."

His words and manner of speech were common as dirt, but Toren Five Toes had the bearing of a great lord. And why wouldn't he? The man was barely thirty, and with a crippled foot besides, yet he commanded one of the most respected sellsword companies money could buy. Most recently, that money had been Tiyana's. Toren was a brilliant tactician, and his company had decimated forces three times their size in the past. They were just what was needed to battle the Lannisters. Rolf had spirited away enough treasure during their escape more than two decades ago that they had been able to commission Toren's Tigers almost two years. By that time, Tiyana would have her holding back, be in a position to get more money and hold onto his services, or be dead. She fervently hoped it would not be the lattermost option.

"If he does 'take a tumble', you can forget about the treasure," she warned the sellsword captain. Torn shrugged. "Whatever you say, milady." A piercing shriek from above caused Tiyana to start, although Toren remained where he was. Far above, one of the seabirds trailing after the fleet was locked in a fierce battle with a seahawk. It was a swift and brutal struggle, and soon enough a dead gull was plummeting into the ocean. The seahawk swooped down and landed on Toren's shoulder, claws sinking into the specially crafted shoulder pad. Its beak and talons dripped with gore from the unfortunate seabird. Tiyana watched with no small amount of disgust.

"Why does it kill them, if it's not going to eat them?" she asked, voice full of disdain at the waste. Toren shrugged and reached out to pet the hawk's head. The bird allowed him to do so for a few moments before opening its left wing and leaning down to preen its feathers.

"Don't know," the crippled man admitted, "but he's a right vicious cunt, ain't he? That's why I named him Slaughter." Tiyana snorted and walked away without another word, leaving the master tactician with his murderous pet. She went t stand beside Rolf, resting a hand on his back as the old man heaved again, though his stomach was empty by now, and he was left expelling nothing but air.

"I hate him," she muttered to her protector. Rolf took a deep breath, still leaned over the bulwark, before replying.

"I can't say I like the man myself, nor his band. But we need them, my lady. _You_ need them. A thousand swords is nothing to sneeze at, and this lot is known for their loyalty. Remember the tale of how they held that fort in the disputed lands against all comers, even when they got offered more money to surrender than they got for staying true to their clients? It'd be better to have men loyal to House Reyne, true, but we must needs make do with what we have."

Tiyana sighed. "I know, Rolf. I know." She patted his back. "Try to get some rest. Its only a few more days until we arrive at White Harbour. Then we march south to join King Robb and smash the Lannisters." And oh, how sweet that would be. She could taste victory already. The exiled lady stared out at the horizon. Any day now, Westeros would come into view. They were going home.


End file.
